I'm Absorbed in Your Thinking
by meganface
Summary: When Mandy gets a new job, it's up to Mickey to pick up Leah, Mandy's daughter, from kindergarten. He used to think Mandy and her friend were exaggerating about the teacher. Turns out they weren't.
1. Chapter 1

Mickey used to have a sign on his door. One he made with cardboard and a marker pen, stuck up with duct tape. He can't remember exactly what it said, but it was along the lines of 'stay out of my fucking room'. Not like it worked all that much.

His door is bare now; as bare as it can be with cracks in the wood and curses carved into it.

As it's pushed open during his nap and he's got an overly excited five year-old jumping on top of him, kneeing him way too close to his balls, Mickey wonders if it'd work now.

"Look!"

A blur of orange and black and brown is thrust into his face. Mickey squints at it, reels his head back. "Fuck is it?"

Leah drops the thing onto his chest as she gets comfortable sitting on his thighs. "A tiger mask. I made it a' school today."

In some sort of abstract way, the mask does look like a tiger. Only in that it has orange and black on it because apparently in Leah's world tigers have spots.

He doesn't say any of that, though; you need to be positive and shit to kids. So, "Right, yeah," he says, sitting up, "looks real good."

Before Leah was born, it'd been a long time since Mickey had been around someone who could feel joy so easily and openly. Just smile and laugh and goof off for no real reason. Mandy says he's become less of a dickface because of it and he's reluctant to agree.

But then Leah smiles like she is now, so wide and bright, and he guesses she might have a point because he's fucking smiling right back.

She pokes her tongue through the little gap where her first tooth fell out five days ago. "Thanks," she says, taking it back. There's a black strap of elastic stapled to the back of it and Leah pulls it over her head, the mask now distorting her face. Giggling like a maniac, she jumps off of his bed, onto all fours, then scurries out of the room.

Mickey assumes the noise she's making is supposed to be a roar but who the fuck knows with that kid?

...

The sky is no longer blue when Mickey finally emerges from his room, instead sending streaks of orange and yellow through the gaps between the blinds in the living room. Mickey squints, a yawn escaping him, and follows the sound of frying.

"Decided to get your lazy ass up, huh?" Mandy says, shooting a look at him from over her shoulder.

Mickey frowns into the fridge and pulls out a beer. "'Right, 'cause it ain't like I got up at six in the fuckin' morning or anything." He's not in the mood for Mandy's shit. Is actually never in the mood for it, but he could really do without the snide comments tonight.

He settles at the table and steals a sip from Leah's juicebox.

"Hey!" she shouts, a frown forming between her eyebrows, "Tha's mine!"

"I ain't even allowed some OJ?" He leans closer to her, jabs a finger into her side to make her squirm and try not to laugh. His other hand is holding the juicebox too high for her to reach. "Is that it? Not even-"

"Cut it out," Mandy sighs, behind Mickey now. She takes the juicebox from him and hands it back to Leah. "Already got one five year-old, I don't need another."

There's a retort just about to make its way from Mickey's mouth before he turns his head and takes a look at his sister. She looks more tired than she ought to be, the kind of tired that sleep can't chase away, the kind of tired that's settled into your bones.

He frowns up at her. "What's up with the face?"

She wipes her arm across her forehead, completely fucking up her bangs, and sneers. "The fuck's up with yours?"

"No, not - you look pissed off or somethin'," he settles on, averting his gaze to Leah's purple crayon he's twisting between his fingers.

There's a long stretch of silence before Mandy says, "Just... I had that interview today, fucking Starbucks, and it's stressing me out 'cause it's the first one I've had in like a month." She walks back over to the oven and Mickey watches her plate up the bacon sandwiches, throw the dirty dishes in the sink.

It was a couple of months ago that Mandy got fired from her job. Or decided to leave, depending on whose story you choose to believe (hint: only one of them is the fucking truth). She worked at a bar, which Mickey _knew_ was never gonna work out, and got into a fight and that was that. Money's been pretty tight since but it's cool. Mickey's worked some overtime at Eddie's and they're not in any trouble or anything, but Mandy's kinda losing her shit over it.

So Mickey decides against telling her to quit moaning, because the first twenty times he did that he got hit and Mandy's never looked so depressed about it before.

He takes his plate from her, nods his thanks and waits until she's sat down to speak. "How'd it go?" he aks. Clarifies, "The interview," when Mandy looks up at him with a raised brow.

She shrugs. "Good, I think. Dude kept looking at my tits, said I'd get a call this week, so y'know."

"Yeah?" She nods, little smile beginning to grow. "Then why're you still moaning?"

He gets a punch to his arm and Leah laughs so hard she spits her orange juice all over her sandwhich.

...

Mickey tries to ignore the ogling but it's fucking difficult when all he wants to do is shout at the two old women to just stop. He wouldn't go anywhere near them even if you paid him.

He finishes up changing the oil in Mrs. White/the one constantly in pink who smells like she bathes in nothing but damn lavender's car and wipes his hands on the black rag. Half of him wants to untie his jumpsuit from around his waist and put it on properly, but it's hot as balls out and maybe seeing some mechanic in an old vest will be the highlight of these two grandmas' lives. He's feeling charitable today.

Once he closes the hood of the car he turns to them. And regrets it instantly. Fucking christ, he doesn't think anyone has ever so unashamedly undressed him with their eyes in his life. He even has to supress to the stupid urge to squirm.

"So, uh," he starts, trying not to make too much eye contact, "if you just go through to the office to pay you're all set."

They both smile and make for the office. Which is just behind Mickey to his right.

As she passes by, Mrs. White lays a hand on his bare arm and says, "Thank you, dear, you've done a wonderful job," so sincerely that Mickey, a-fucking-gain, has to stop himself from squirming.

"It's cool," he says, nodding to them as they finally, _finally_, fuck off.

He's immediately speedwalking his way towards the break room, a cackling Shauna following behind him.

"Oh fuck," she wheezes, holding onto his shoulder.

Mickey shrugs her off and collapses onto the ratty, old couch they moved in here a couple months back. "Fuck off," he says as he moves his legs so she has room to sit.

She pulls out the clip in her hair and her loose curls fall to her shoulders. Fucker is still laughing. "Dude, I'm sorry, but that shit was hilarious, a'ight?" She settles back, winces when, Mickey assumes, she sits on the broken spring. "For real, I don't even get guys starin' at my rack like that, and let's be real here, it's way more impressive than your pale-ass arms."

Mickey just grunts because it's true. Shauna's rack - and even he can admit this - is ridiculous, especially in the white t-shirt she wears with her jumpsuit. One time a customer literally drooled. There was actual fucking saliva.

"They probably tipped you real good, though, so you can't complain too bad."

"Yeah, I can," he argues, just because.

As expected, Shauna stares at him with her thin eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline and kisses her teeth. "You really wanna go there wi' me, Milkovich? 'Cause I got 99 problems and you're about to be number 100."

Mickey snorts, chuckles quietly and stretches. "Yeah, whatever, you want a ride or what?" His stomach muscles tense when Shauna pinches the slither of exposed skin and he pretends to accidentally elbow her head before getting her in headlock. She starts swearing like she's never been taught any other words, and Mickey laughs, one hand messing up her hair.

"Fucker," she groans, finally released from Mickey's hold. "Congratulations, you're now number 100, prick." She collects her bag, middle-finger aimed at him the entire time, and then demands he hurry the fuck up so she can get home and shower before her date tonight.

"Poor guy," Mickey mutters to himself, jamming his keys, phone, wallet and smokes into his pockets. At Shauna's, "Huh?" he says, "Nah, just reminding myself I need to buy some more pie."

It takes them leaving, shouting their goodbyes to Eddie and driving halfway home before Shauna realises what he said. His punishment is both taking the 101st spot and having her threaten to set him up with her fuck ugly gay cousin.

...

Mandy and one of her mom friends are gossiping in the kitchen when Mickey gets home, and when he finally persuades Leah and her little friend with the huge-ass attitude to go play somewhere else, he joins them.

"Mm," Mandy's friend, Kerry, inhales and exhales the cigarette smoke and quickly continues, "d'you see Ian today?"

Great, this shit again. At least twice a week Mickey has to hear about the many expicit things Kerry would do to their kids' kindergarten teacher in explicit detail.

"No, why?" Mandy asks, making two cups of coffee. She holds a mug up in a wordless question and Mickey nods.

Kerry groans, says, "Babe, he looked so good. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up and his arms..." One hand goes to her chest and the other to Mandy's arm, like she's having heart problems. "Bet he could hold me up against a wall and just drill me."

Mickey scrunches up his eyebrows. "Ain't you married?"

Gathering her long, blonde hair so it falls over one shoulder, Kerry faces him. "Aw sweetie," she says (Mickey hates this woman), "you really think that'd get in the way?" She drops her finished cigarette into her full coffee cup and smiles at him. "Anyway, I gotta go, Dana needs to get ready for her swim class." Her skinny arms wrap around Mandy and she kisses her cheek, leaving a red print that she neither mentions nor wipes off. "Congrats on the job, babe, see ya Mickey, Dana hurry up!"

With a flurry, she's out of the door before Mickey can even process what's going on.

And then, "Wait, you got the job?"

Mandy walks over to him and sits down. "Yeah," she answers, passing him his coffee. "Got the call today, they want me in to do training or whatever, sort out my hours," she shrugs, "the boring shit."

Their family has never been good at words of encouragment or praise, the idea of complimenting and congratulating someone is one that very rarely enters their minds.

Still, Mickey smiles and says, "Alright, cool. S'good," staring determinedly down at the steaming creamy brown liquid in his cup.

Mandy snorts. "Thanks." She takes a few sips of her coffee before standing again, adjusting her denim shorts. "You okay to watch Leah tomorrow? It'll only be a couple hours."

Mouth full, Mickey hums an affirmative noise. Saturday is one of the days he has off and he has no plans that require him leaving the house. Plus keeping an eye on the little fucker isn't so bad. At least now she can take a fucking dump on her own. He still hasn't forgiven Mandy for leaving him to change Leah's diaper that one time. Shit was traumatic.

"Oh," Mandy swivels round from the fridge at the same time as Leah comes skipping in. Her neutral expression brightens when she sees her. "Hey, you want nuggets for dinner?" she asks her, putting a hand to Leah's head as she hugs Mandy's legs.

"Yep."

Mandy nods, looks over at Mickey. "I was gonna ask you if you could maybe talk to Eddie about starting work earlier and finishing a little earlier. 'Cause the Starbucks dude said my hours would probably be afternoon to evening, so..." She trails off, nodding down at Leah; she's sat at Mandy's feet, forming non-existant words with the magnetic alphabet.

It'll probably take some time to work out schedules and shit, but Eddie should be cool with the change. And as soon as Mickey mentions it's to pick up his little niece, he won't have to say another word; with seven kids and ten grandkids, Eddie understands the way family life works.

Mickey stands, stretching and rolling his neck. "Whatever," he mumbles into his cup. He slurps down the last drops of his drink and places the empty cup on the table, smirking at Mandy's glare.

He's almost made it to his room when Mandy shouts out, "It has it's perks, y'know. Kerry wasn't bullshitting about the teacher, Ian!"

Mickey snorts, incredulous. He's betting this dude will be some weird-ass looking Channing Tatum lookalike.


	2. Chapter 2

A glance at his phone tells Mickey he's five minutes early. So he's faced with two options: get out of the car, join the overeager parents waiting for their kids by the gate or stay in his humid as fuck car, melt so that he and his carseat become one and slowly lose his damn mind.

He looks at the huddle of parents again, feels another bead of sweat forming at his hairline and decides to get out.

Then immediately crouches behind his car door because fucking fuck there's that stalker bitch who Mickey fucked _only once_ (maybe twice but he was off his face and it was years ago) and when the fuck did she procreate? More importantly who was dumb enough to go there without a condom?

Mickey sighs and straightens up, closing the door. He stays on that side, though, somewhat hidden from her view. And maybe this makes him 3% of a pussy, but the girl is legitimately insane. Posted him a pair of her used underwear and a love letter. In the mail. She lives five minutes away from him.

Jesus, he needs a smoke. He pops one in his mouth and lights it, eyes closing as he inhales, face warmed by the sun.

He's a few drags in when the schoolbell rings, startling him slightly. He flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushes it with his booted foot.

Car locked, he follows everyone else into the schoolyard, where a herd of kids now flood, running about and screaming. Mickey grits his teeth but is relieved to find that stalker bitch is no longer around. Maybe she just knows someone with children.

He narrowly avoids being knocked into by about twenty different kids when he finally makes it to where the kindergarten classes are. They're in a separate building to the rest of the school with a different playground, one with a swingset, slides and a couple sandboxes, flowers planted along the gated fence.

Mickey stuffs his hands into his jumpsuit pockets, glaring back at two women who give him dirty looks. The only reason he has dirty hands and a grease-stained vest is because he's been fucking _working_, and now these bitches are judging him for it? It's only the first day of picking Leah up from school and he's tired of it.

A young woman wearing a bright floral dress steps out of one classroom, her class following close behind. After several seconds the other door opens and Mickey, curious, cranes his neck to the side to get a good look at Ian.

He's pretty tall and a redhead and Mickey instantly realises that this is Ian _Gallagher_, from a family just as well-known in his neighborhood as the Milkoviches.

But he hasn't seen the guy in fucking years, probably not since he and Mandy used to hang out in their junior year of high school. Either Mickey was fucking blind back then or puberty turned out to be Ian's best friend.

Mickey finally shakes out of his daze and a couple parents are now with their kids. He waits for more to clear out before moving forward, wiping his hands against his trouser legs.

Backpack hugged to her chest, Leah beams when she sees him, tugs on Ian's t-shirt and points at him.

"Hey," he says, closer now, nodding to Ian and then to Leah, "Ready to go, brat?"

Ian snorts and Mickey darts a look at him. "You're Mickey, right?" he asks. "Mandy said you'd be picking Leah up from now on, just needed to make sure," he continues after Mickey nods.

Before Mickey can reply, Leah starts tugging relentlessly at the sleeves of Mickey's jumpsuit. "What?"

She gives him her big, brown puppy eyes, says, "Can I get a pops'cle?" pointing at the ice cream van beyond the gate.

He found out a while ago that he can't say no to her when she looks at him like that, doesn't bother pretending like he can. Nodding a goodbye at Ian, he taps her shoulder to get her moving.

By the time they get home, Leah's mouth and white t-shirt are stained blue.

...

There's a suspicious looking cream-coloured mark on Mandy's tight black trousers when she arrives home, her hair up in a messy ponytail.

Mickey sweeps his eyes down her frame. "Fun day at work?" he asks, a sarcastic little upturn to his lips.

Mandy throws her jacket at him and storms into her bedroom, leaving Mickey to laugh quietly to himself, an entranced Leah by his side watching Dora the fucking Explorer.

They're left alone for a couple hours - Mandy was napping when Mickey checked to see if she hadn't offed herself - and Mickey is way too tired to get up and cook something, so he orders Chinese. Actually Leah blackmails him into it but telling himself he didn't really want pizza in the first place is less damaging to his pride.

Just fifteen minutes later it arrives, and, as if summoned by the smell of it, Mandy shuffles into the living room. Her make-up is smeared around her eyes and she looks like shit, taking the pot of noodles from Mickey and sitting down on the couch.

Leah happily stuffs her face with lemon chicken and rice, chattering away about school and how they learnt all the colours in the rainbow.

Mickey half-listens, nods and smiles when she looks his way. He's just waiting for Mandy to make a comment about Ian, to ask him what he thought of the guy.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"So," she starts, pausing whilst Mickey has his head in the fridge, "what'd you think?"

"Of?" he asks, feigning ignorance.

Mandy sees right through it. "Ian."

Mickey rolls his eyes then frowns. He has no desire to talk about this with her. Or anyone. Yeah, the guy's alright, whatever, why does he have to talk about it? He isn't some horny little housewife whose husband is a shitty fuck; he isn't _Kerry_.

"I don't."

Now it's Mandy who frowns. "Don't what?"

"Think of him, Ian. I don't think anything of him. Except that he's an old friend of yours, so fuck you for that."

She smirks and turns around, runs the taps. "Surprised you recognised him."

Mickey doesn't answer her. This conversation has annoyed him. And not simply because it was a conversation with Mandy. Ever since she found out about him she's dropped hints about guys she thinks are maybe into dick. It's not too weird, she isn't some fag hag or whatever, dragging him off to gay bars. It's just that he doesn't fucking need it. Frankly, he'd rather turn to Craigslist in his desperation than Mandy.

So all this talk about Ian, her raised eyebrows and expectant smiles; Mickey feels like she's trying to set him up, use her connections to get him laid. It makes him feel uncomfortable, like he needs his little sister's help to get laid. Besides, Ian's probably as gay as Mickey is straight.

...

The work day passes in a sweltering daze and Mickey works almost on auto-pilot. There isn't too much to do; for the most part he and Eddie continue restoring a 1972 Dodge Challenger for his kid's eighteenth. They still have a long way to go but Mickey enjoys it, likes actually seeing the progress they make, that their hard work is visibly paying off.

By the time three o'clock rolls around, Mickey's sauntering into the break room. He aims the rag he cleans his hands with at Shauna's head where she's sat backwards on one of the wooden chairs they keep around, pointed chin resting on the back as she lazily smokes.

She squawks, clearly surprised. "Motherfucker," she snaps, scowling at him.

Mickey simply grabs his stuff, catches the rag easily seconds before it hits his chest. He walks backwards, smiling smugly and says, "You throw like a pre-pubescent girl," and nearly chokes on his own spit when Shauna shouts back, "Yeah, well you throw like a faggot," loud enough for fucking Eddie to hear.

Eddie smirks, puts on his falsetto voice and; "Hope you have a positively wonderf-

"Fuck off!" Mickey shouts, middle fingers held up to him.

Times like these when he considers becoming a recluse.

...

There aren't that many people around when Mickey pulls up to Leah's school. It's not like he's late; his phone only says it's 3:31pm. Still, he doesn't hang about, hurriedly making his way to the kindergarten classes.

Apparently there was no need for it. Only three kids are left with their parents but no Leah in sight and Mickey swears under his breath - like fuck, did that one minute seriously make a difference?

"Hey, Mickey!"

Mickey swings around from where he was looking around the playground and Ian's waving him over. "Where's Leah?" he asks, having to put in way too much effort to not sound like he was .25 seconds away from having a heart attack.

Ian smiles, as if he hears it regardless. "She's just finishing up a painting," he says, his smile turning fond. "She'll probably be a few minutes so you can just," he shrugs, "y'know, wait inside?"

Without even meaning to, Mickey checks him out, eyes taking a quick sweep up and down his body. He's got a blue striped t-shirt on and yeah alright, Kerry had a point about his arms. He gnaws on his bottom lip and glances to the side. "Yeah, whatever."

The classroom is basically what Mickey imagined a kindergarten classroom would look like. All bright, appealing colours; art supplies and random (read: shitty) handmade craft things; and a fuckton of picture books.

At one of the miniature tables in the back corner is Leah, her little body swamped in an oversized paint-splattered t-shirt. She's completely unaware of their presence.

Ian carries in a human-sized chair from fuck knows where; everything in this room is clearly for midgets and five year-olds.

"Thanks," Mickey says, feeling awkward. He actually reaches to get a cigarette out before he remembers where he is. God, why does it have to be his niece whose got an unhealthy obsession with paint? He doesn't know if the situation is made worse by the fact that Ian is up, tidying around. It gives Mickey too much of an opportunity to just watch him.

Fuck. He sighs. Too loudly.

Ian snorts. "Hey, you're watching a young Picasso at work and you're bored?"

It's a lame-ass joke yet Mickey finds himself huffing a laugh, mirroring Ian's smile. "Just thinking of another way to say 'yeah, that looks great'."

"I've found just asking questions about whatever it is to be a good distraction."

"Oh yeah?" Mickey doesn't mean for that to sound like he's fucking flirting, but he's slouching down in his chair, legs widening and Ian's smirking at him. "Ain't you supposed to be all positive and encouraging and shit?"

Ian walks over, drops some Sharpies into the drawer of the desk Mickey's sat beside and Mickey can't look away from him. "Gotta do what you gotta do," he says with a shrug.

They're smiling, sort of just staring at each other, for a few seconds. Then Leah is somehow drawn out of her painting mode and demands Mickey to come look at her painting.

It isn't all that bad; a rainbow and some trees and a big smiling sun.

"Why're his lips red?" Mickey asks, shooting a look at Ian who bites his lip on a smile. And fuck is that a good look on him.

Leah holds up her arms and Mickey takes off the oversized t-shirt. "'Cause," she says, drawing out the word and rolling her eyes, "s'a girl!"

"Huh."

"Hey, Mr. Ian, d'you like it?"

Ian crouches down so that he's level with her. "Yeah, Leah, you did really good." And he sounds so genuine that Mickey can't imagine he's simply bullshitting for Leah's benefit.

She smiles, does her weird little giddy jump and runs off to where the coats and bags are kept. Her cardigan is on inside-out when she returns. "Come on," she screeches, running to the door, "wanna show mommy!"

Mickey has no choice other than to follow her, but he spares one final look at Ian. "I'll, uh, see ya Monday."

"Yeah," Ian says, "see ya, Mickey.'


End file.
